The Artificial Silk Girl (17 page)

And you’re getting old early, at a time when a star in her ermine coat hasn’t aged at all yet — you have your Doris who experiences great things until she too has become a Therese. That’s the way it goes with Therese and with so many others, now I know. I won’t play along with that, you can fuck yourselves —. Compared to that, a whore’s life is more interesting. At least she’s got her own business.

“Dear Mr. Ernst, I don’t want to work, I don’t want to — please, I want to wash your curtains and beat the carpets.
I want to shine our shoes and the floors and I want to cook — I love to cook, because it’s exciting for me. It tastes good to me and I can see your leathery skin turning pink and I take great pride in my work. I’ll do anything, but I don’t want to work.”

“But I’m working, too, Miss Doris.”

“But you had a higher education, Mr. Ernst, and so did your parents. And you have books on your bedside table and an education and an understanding of the things that you’re dealing with, and you like what you do, and it doesn’t cost you anything or very little, and it gives you enjoyment. But Therese and I have to pay for our enjoyments and we have to pay for them with money. I too know those Lippi Wiesels who write their own books and do all this talking about themselves and have this admiration for themselves, even though they have no money. But tell me please, what should I admire in myself? I don’t want to work.”

“But you enjoy working around the house.”

“I do everything around here. It interests me, because it doesn’t cost anything. That’s different. Should I work as a cook or a servant — for the Onyx kids — Madam, dinner is served, Madam — no way, you could get fired, you have to brownnose her and that’s why you have to hate her — you have to hate anyone who can dismiss you, even if they’re good to you, because you work for them and not with them.”

“But Miss Doris, you’re working for me too, when you cook for me and when you wash my curtains.”

“I’m working for you because I enjoy it, not because I’m afraid I won’t be able to make a living. I’m not really working. I just do it like that” — leave me alone with your stupid lectures, I don’t want to work and I want to keep my fur coat.

   He brought me a silk scarf with an incredible pattern — “I thought you might like it, I think it would go well with your brown dress.” But he’s so good to me.

But he’s so decent.

“My dear little Doris, my dear little Doris, my dear little Doris — I bet that’s how they come up with a new song that becomes a hit.”

“Is your grenade splinter still wandering, Herr — ”

“Please call me Ernst.”

“Er — I can’t. Perhaps if I had my mouth on that grenade splinter, I can’t possibly image that I could.”

“You’re a decent person, Miss Doris.”

That’s what he said. And I can believe what a man tells me for a change, okay?

“You know, Mr. — Ernst — that linoleum in the parlor — I was waxing it today, it’s practical no doubt, because the dust, but it’s cold somehow — ”

“Do you think we should put a carpet?”

“You don’t think that would be too much of an expense? If not, I would not be in favor of it.”

“Let’s look at carpets.”

So we went to look at carpets together and I was allowed to meet him at the office and he took my arm in front of his colleagues, real official. It wasn’t dark yet, either. I love him — not like that — but like that.

Well, maybe like that after all. With emphasis on love. Sometimes I get this funny feeling. My poor fur. Please stay out of my personal affairs, Mr. Green Moss. Fur, you stay. I wonder if he doesn’t find me attractive. As far as I am concerned I don’t want to want, but I want him to want it. I’m feeling so stupid, like I want to look at myself in the mirror all the time. So she had long legs. But so do I. And what they had in common — but our walks with dogs at trees and stars and grenade splinters that wander, do they mean nothing at all? And the leftovers from that goose lasted forever. Having a goose in common, isn’t that worth something? And it lasted such a long time and didn’t smell at all. Always he’s talking about his wife. Will he never stop? What do you mean blonde — it’s just a color. And Schubert and Baudelaire and
— Das ist die Liebe der Matrosen
.

His skin is getting more yellow every day, it’s as if spiders were running over it, it’s gross — we’re talking real yellow with gray in it. I can’t believe a compote made from
fresh mirabelles wouldn’t help. Why do all the jokes I know have to be so obscene that even a decisively decent woman, especially one in such highly decent bright yellow circumstances, couldn’t possibly tell them?

He kissed my hand. He, mine. And without hesitation. I had left flowers on the dining room table. And then he left some for me.

Sometimes every night spent by yourself is a waste. But otherwise I’m fine.

I’ll do anything, anything at all, but I won’t work.

   A letter. My God, a letter came. The mail comes at ten o’clock. I already know about the green ones that have advertising in them for shaving utensils and Rhine wine and free theater tickets that are a lie, since you have to pay for the show after all. Plus we have enough of our own theater around here. But there’s a white one and it’s closed in a mean way and that makes me suspicious. Who’s that bitch writing by hand?

“Doris, I’m so grateful that you’re here!” That’s what he said to me yesterday. It’s my apartment, my curtains, my cooking, my leathery skin of his. You, you belong to me — not because of money and a sofa to sleep on — I’m not lying, I’m not lying: please lose your job. I’m going to keep cooking — me and you — I’ll continue to take care of you — I of you — I’ll do laundry for people, I’ll take the Onyx kids for a walk in parks and along rivers with
fallen leaves, I’ll type, I won’t work — but I will do it for us — don’t worry about losing your job, just go ahead. There’s a white letter with edges that makes me suspicious — of course I open it, I’m the lady of the house.

And it says:

“My dear Ernsty: I hurt you and I was bad to you. You won’t be able to love me any longer. But perhaps there will come a time when you won’t be angry with me anymore. I so much want to explain to you: see, my entire life, before I knew you, was a constant battle, a constant back and forth between success and failure, a tense wait for the next day, a constant change between a good mood and depression. Things were happening all the time — and when nothing was happening, then you could be sure that something particularly beautiful would happen tomorrow or the following week.

“And then my work at the dance academy — I was so happy every time that I had made some progress. How sad, how desperate was I when I thought I had come to a standstill. How beautiful it was to cross the street, catching words and gestures of passersby or a ray of sun on a pot of geraniums — those myriads of things that happen in the street, they turned into a tune in my head that I could feel in my entire body. (Did you know that I always wanted to dance under that big curved blue neon sign at the subway station?)

“And then there were more disappointments and the fear of not reaching one’s goal and I was tired on those days
where I had just enough money to pay for thin tea and a dry roll. No, Ernsty, life wasn’t always beautiful, but it was colorful and lively and full of change. And then came that tacky spring, so sweet and so soft, that season that makes you melancholy and lonely when there’s nobody around whom you can love. And there you were all of a sudden, and nothing mattered to me anymore except our love. I was so happy and felt so safe surrounded by your kindness. And when we got married, I was so happy and proud that I had plans and a profession that I could sacrifice to you.

“And then I couldn’t keep it up. The first year things were lovely and nice, the second year I desperately wanted things to be lovely and nice and I lied to myself a little. During the third year, I was really struggling and gritting my teeth. And during the fourth year — Ernsty, I almost went crazy. I was dying to go back to my thin tea and my dry roll and all that hope and expectation and that ability to create something out of my inner self. And I was terrified that those quiet uneventful days would be all that was left for me, until the end of my life. And I was scared to grow old, scared to have missed out on something. And because you were so good to me and did everything for me, you just didn’t notice that I wasn’t happy. I also felt so stupid being one of those endless variations of the ‘misunderstood woman.’

“I just had been standing on my own feet for too long already, had lived with a profession I loved for too long.
Perhaps you could have helped me, we could have talked about it — that’s the most stupid thing you can do when you’re married, to keep your mouth shut to avoid hurting the other person. That always goes wrong. Too much accumulates.

“And then I met — well, we were talking about dance and all of a sudden, it came over me: it’s not too late yet — but it could be too late tomorrow. And I was in love with him too. Yes, I was. And only now I know, it was already too late — now I know that over the years you have become stronger than everything else. I’m thinking about you a lot. I wish you well from the bottom of my heart. You won’t want to write to me, but I wanted you to hear from me — well, you’ve already heard enough from

Your Hanne.”

That’s women for you. Stuck the letter under the cork carpeting. Of course she put her return address, it’s under the cork carpeting too. I’m so agitated.

I’ll do anything for you, my dear person, anything. Please lose your job.

   We went to the movies together. It was a movie about girls in uniforms. They were high-class girls, but they had the same problem I have. You love somebody and that brings tears to your eyes and gives you a red nose. You love somebody — it’s nothing you can understand. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman or God.

It was very dark — he won’t take my hand? I put it close to him — why won’t he take it — I breathe his hair — where is that wandering grenade splinter? Am I the movies or love?
Das ist die Liebe der Matrosen
 … I would sell the fur coat, if I could get paid for it in the currency of being able to touch his hair just once.

The movie is pulling me away from him, it’s so beautiful. I’m crying. There are lots of girls — would you despise me — you’re crying yourselves. You love a life or a teacher in the style of a cloister or you love a Green Moss or your future — am I any different from you, dear girls? He’s not taking my hand.

“Doris, do you see that girl to the left — she looks like my wife, if only I knew where she was — can you see her?” Yes, she’s under the cork flooring.

Good night, Green Moss — I’m too tired to go to sleep. I just got up from writing and walked over that spot on the cork carpeting, where she lies. That way I’m going to trample her to death.

My dear Green Moss, I drank from your cognac — do you think I’m ugly — don’t I have anything to offer to you? Blue eyes. Tired. Because it takes a tremendous amount of strength not to open the door that is white and right next to me. Good night. No good night at all. You’re all right, snoring away in your grief, while I’m lying awake with my happiness.

If you’re human, you have feelings. If you’re human, you know what it means if you want someone and they don’t want you. It’s like an electrified waiting period. Nothing more, nothing less. But it’s enough.

   It’s a wonderful life. It could be even more wonderful, but already it’s so wonderful that I don’t have much to write in my book any more. He didn’t talk about his wife at all all night. We were dancing in his apartment. But in a very elegant way and without any pressure. And the only reason I’m writing about this is because he didn’t pressure me. And I’m bathing with lavender and press my clothes. A bit of color on my lips and I look in the mirror: Well, how do I look? I’ve tried myself out a bit by sitting in a café and I had an enormous effect, because you always get the most offers when you don’t need them. But it does make life difficult if you really like someone and you don’t feel like meeting anyone else and it turns you off and doesn’t change anything. And he’s not even my type.

I’m slightly drunk — I want him to be happy and I want him to notice and not notice that I want him to notice it.
Vienna, Vienna, only you, Vienna
— we were sitting there listening to the radio. Oh, it’s so beautiful.
Das gibt’s nur einmal, das kommt nicht wieder — das ist zu schön um — Wien, Wien, nur du allein — Wien, Wien, bist du ein Rhein — denn man macht Musik mit dir
— at
moments like these, I feel like a poet, I can rhyme too, within limits of course, and I become a rhyme
— Wien, Wien, nur du allein
— God, I’m so drunk
— Wien, Wien nur du allein
— he poured me a cognac to get to my senses but in order to get rid of it in an elegant way, I would have to go to the bathroom, which means walking through his bedroom — I can’t walk in a straight line anymore and I’m awake with my new morality — it’s no fun going for a carousel ride in your own bed. But to put it bluntly, I resent having to walk through the bedroom of the man I love, just to throw up. So I prefer to write instead.

Found a bottle of seltzer and finished it — feeling better already.

I want to be a joy for him and distract him from his thoughts about his wife who’s lying under the cork carpeting and singing Schubert. And cooking alone doesn’t do the trick. But my thoughts want to sacrifice something for him. So I’ll get my life in order and my papers. And then he says: “It won’t work, Doris, you can’t just take something. There has to be an order to things and that order exists only if one person protects the other.” I’ll think about it. It’s about the fur coat. I stole it. But now I love it — just as Ernst loves his wife. My fur coat has such soft hair and it has been through so much with me, sometimes things that were very difficult, but then there are small things we have in common as well. If Ernst forgets about his wife, I promise to forget about my fur coat. But it’s not
really the same thing because his wife left him, and my fur coat would do no such thing. If I abandon my fur coat, I’ll wrong it.